A/N: So apparently my brain had more than one tag in it…they are extremely similar, but this one is told a bit more from Sam's POV. Oh, and in case it reads that way...this is NOT a deathfic. Reviews are so lovely…curious to hear which version you liked better.

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"We gotta burn Ellicott's bones and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal." Dean said.

Sam stared down at his brother, anger flooding his system and a red haze surrounding his vision. Every last piece of frustration and anger he had ever felt but held back finally free to come forth, inhibition gone. "I am normal. I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? 'Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?"

"This isn't you talking, Sam."

"That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you." Sam knew Dean hated feeling weak, hated the thought of not being in control. He knew all the buttons to push, and there was going to be no mercy this time!

"So what are you gunna do, huh? Are you gunna kill me?"

"You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago." It was all becoming so clear! He needed to be free - free from this brother who was too weak to do what needed to be done. Free from being bossed around and treated like a little kid. Sam could taste it.

"Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you." Dean said, and held out his Smith & Wesson to Sam. "Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt." Sam hesitated. Even through the red haze that was clouding his thoughts he somehow knew he was approaching a point of no return.

"Take it!" Another order? Fine! He'd show him! So he took it. And pointed it at Dean, staring through the haze, unable to think beyond the anger pulsing in his veins, feeling pushed and goaded by something outside his control…but he just didn't care.

"You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!"

The anger flared, and he pulled the trigger. Once, twice…three times. And suddenly, as quickly as it had come upon him, the rage lifted. The red haze dissipated, but looking down, Sam was still seeing red. Red, seeping from holes in Dean's body. Holes he had put there…

"No!" he cried, "No no no…" Collapsing to his knees, he put pressure on the wounds, but it was in vain. Already he could tell, Dean was gone.

"What have I done? Oh my…what have I done? Dean! No!" Sam's world shattered as he realized the truth - he had killed his brother. He had been under the influence of the poltergeist's rage, but it still happened. Without thinking twice he turned the gun to his own head, only to hear an empty click…the chamber was empty. Looking down once more at the sightless eyes of a brother who had always put him first and had done nothing to deserve his anger, let alone this outcome…a hopeless wail of grief burst out of him, from the depth of his being, almost animalistic in nature.

Dean shot upright, woken by the most horrible wail of sorrow. Immediately looking over to his brother, he realized Sam was trapped in yet another nightmare. He'd been having so many since they reunited that he had started sleeping through them, but this one apparently was particularly bad. Even as he rose to try to wake him, he heard Sam murmur brokenly, "Dean? Oh Dean, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…" Crap, not the usual Jessica dream then, he thought, even as he grabbed Sam's arm then ducked to avoid the reflex punch that was thrown.

"Sam! Wake up man! It's just a dream." Sam came awake gasping, like he'd been running, scooting back against the bed frame and pulling his knees up. Looking over at his very-much-alive brother, he said in a relieved voice, "Dean." Then tears suddenly streamed down his face, and he murmured "Dean" again in a heart-broken voice, burying his face in his arms, which were propped on his knees.

"Sam, talk to me." Dean urged, but Sam just shook his head without raising it. He had been dreaming the same dream since the asylum, but had managed up till now to keep it from Dean. When Dean had noticed the nightmares and commented, he'd simply not corrected Dean's assumption that it was the same old dreams that had been plaguing him since Jess's death. He still had those too, but these dreams of Dean dying - of him killing him - were definitely the feature of late. He was exhausted, and had a feeling that this time it wouldn't be so easy to fool his incredibly intuitive brother.

"It was a nightmare about the asylum, wasn't it." Dean said quietly. Damn. Yep, very intuitive. Sam sat motionless, not wanting to share, but knowing despite how much his brother claimed to hate chick-flick moments he was not going to drop this, not this time.

The brothers sat silently for some time. Dean was patient, he could wait as long as needed. He hated the sharing-caring moments, but he knew they could not go on as they had been. He'd seen the dark bruising around Sam's eyes, observed how easily he fell asleep any time they weren't in motion and also how abruptly he awoke each time he did nod off. Yet every time he brought it up Sam brushed it off, as if not sleeping was no big deal and horrible nightmares were normal. Dean felt his frustration rise again at being unable to help his brother, to fix it. Well, no more. Sam needed to talk. And he would wait all night if that is what it took.

Dean's resolve weakened, however, as the minutes grew long. He was tired, dammit, too tired for this crap. Sam, talk to me brother! He silently pleaded, show me how to help you. Let me share the load. Just about the time Dean's patience was coming to an end, his wait was finally rewarded.

"I - I killed you." Sam said, face muffled, yet Dean heard him clearly enough. He sighed, realizing he should have expected this. He hadn't really gotten over the experience of his baby brother pulling the trigger - he knew the gun was empty but Sam had not - so it's no surprise that emo-boy would be wallowing in guilt. He heard more muffled sounds, and realized Sam was crying, trying very hard to hide it, but he was too attuned to all things Sam to miss it.

How do we fix this? Dean wondered. Well, let's start with the truth. "I'm not dead, Sammy. I'm right here."

"Only because the gun you handed me wasn't loaded." Suddenly Sam was looking at him, eyes blazing. "Why the HELL would you do that anyway? Do you have a death wish?" As suddenly as his anger came, remorse flooded over him. He knew Dean thought he would never, could never pull the trigger. And yet he did. Not once, but three times. He flinched, drawing back even further in horror from his own actions, which were the stuff of both nightmares and…incomprehensibly, reality.

"Sam. Stop." Dean pleaded, seeing his brother's thoughts rolling across his face and knowing he was going down the rabbit hole. He reached out and grabbed Sam's arm. Sam flinched violently, but Dean refused to let go. In fact, he moved closer, crowding into Sam's space. "I'm right here. You didn't kill me, and that wasn't you that tried. Not really. Certainly not in your right mind."

"I knew what I was doing." Sam said miserably. "Everything was a haze of red, and I couldn't think clearly, but…" He shuddered as he again considered what could have happened, saw again in his mind Dean, dead by his own hand.

"Stop man, just stop." Dean sighed, shaking him gently. "I know you. I do." he reiterated as Sam shook his head, "Better than anyone. And I know you would never, NEVER do such a thing if you were not under the influence of another force. It wasn't you, man. And it's over. No harm, no foul - "

"How can you say that Dean?" Sam nearly wailed, "I betrayed you in the most horrible of ways. How can you forgive that? How do we move past that? If the gun had been loaded, you would have been DEAD - !" Sam stared at his shaking hands, seeing blood that wasn't there covering them.

"Look at me." Dean replied, waiting until finally Sam reluctantly met his eyes. "I forgive you. I do. I know you were angry and frustrated - probably still are - with the situation we find ourselves in, and Ellicott took that and amped and twisted it into a rage that no longer was yours. You said and did some horrible things under the influence of that rage, and in the moment I admit it hurt, but I can see beyond the hurt to know it wasn't your choice or even really your anger anymore driving you in that moment. So I forgive you...and you gotta forgive yourself. You can't keep going like this, you need real, restful sleep. Let it go, brother."

Sam stared back, soaking in the forgiveness Dean was offering, but still reluctant to let himself off the hook. This job was dangerous, sure, but he had never once considered that it would be dangerous to Dean because of HIM. Yet in spite of that, here Dean was saying everything was ok and to let it go. Was HE really letting it go? Sam tried to gauge his sincerity, and found only caring and concern for him reflected in Dean's gaze.

He couldn't resist one more murmur of "I'm so sorry." to which Dean immediately responded, "I know. It's ok, we're good. Let it go, move on brother." Taking a big breath, feeling like he could really breathe for the first time since it had happened, Sam slumped back against the wall. Glancing again at his hands, they were no longer covered in imagined blood. As the tension left his body, he felt the weariness of his broken nights take over. Dean patted his arm, rising to return to his own bed.

"Go to sleep." Dean ordered, hoping that this time Sam would really sleep and not dream. He settled back in bed, feeling his own exhaustion pull him towards oblivion. As he was drifting off, he heard Sam whisper, "Thanks." and smiled in the dark room.

"Night Bitch." he replied. He waited, knowing from his breathing Sam was still awake, hoping they were at a better place now.

"Night Jerk." Smiling again, Dean turned over and allowed himself to sleep. Sam smiled too, looking over at the other bed and knowing he really could never do anything to intentionally hurt his big brother, his hero. With that uplifting thought, he drifted off to the first uninterrupted night's sleep in a very long time.

When Dean awoke, sunshine was streaming in the crack in the curtains and the nightstand clock said nine fifteen. Looking over at the other bed, he was pleased to see Sam still out cold. Rising quietly, he went about his morning ablutions and then slipped outside and over to the café next door, returning with coffee and muffins. Setting those down, he debated waking his still sleeping brother, but upon reflection decided to let him sleep.

Sam opened his eyes slowly and stretched, feeling rested for the first time in a long time. The middle of the night conversation with his brother flooded back into his mind, and he glanced around the room for him, finding him at the table reading a local paper and regarding him with a smirk.

"Good afternoon Sleeping Beauty." Sam's brow wrinkled at that, and he glanced over at the clock. 1:30pm...wow! Almost eleven hours of uninterrupted sleep and no nightmares. He couldn't remember the last time... "Your coffee was going to get cold, so I drank it." Dean continued, bringing his gaze back to him. "Ate your muffin too." That made his stomach growl, which elicited a laugh from Dean. "Get up, sleepyhead, and we can go get food. The diner next door looks promising. Cute waitress too."

Sam grumbled as he knew was expected, smiling internally even as he rose to do as Dean suggested. It seemed they had found their equilibrium once more, and it felt really, really good. Feeling optimistic for the first time in what seemed like forever, he followed Dean out the door toward the diner, listening as he described an article in the paper that had caught his eye and "might be their kind of thing." They opened the diner door to be greeted with an enticing smell and a "howdy, sit wherever you like boys." Laughing at Dean's crestfallen face, knowing the matronly waitress was NOT the one he'd mentioned, he slid into the booth feeling like things might finally be looking up for them. Maybe today they would find something that would lead them closer to finding Dad, but either way, they'd hunt some monsters and hopefully save some people along the way.